Cotton Dreams

I am sitting on a motel bed on a Sunday morning. The sheets are the blankest of white; thin and uncomfortable. But I will hold them up against me, twist my fingers into the folds of fabric and pretend, just for a minute, that they will envelop my body, lift it out the door then into the sky and carry me to you.

Subscribe

Get Teen Ink’s 48-page monthly print edition. Written by teens since 1989.